19. Earning the Room #3
“They made me an idiot for a long time too.”
“That’s not the hands’ fault.”
“No.” He kissed my hair. “That part was all me.”
Our daughter quieted against me, her fingers still curled around his.
Nolan shifted closer and brought his arm around my shoulders without disturbing her. I leaned into him, keeping one hand over our daughter’s back while he touched the side of her tiny fist.
No cameras waited outside the room. No one needed a statement from him. There was nothing to sell and nobody to impress.
There were only the three of us.
Nolan wrapped his arms around us while our daughter rested against my chest.
Several hours later, the room had settled into a low hum of monitors and footsteps passing in the hall.
Our daughter slept against me, wrapped in a hospital blanket with only her face showing, her mouth pursed as if she had already found something about the world disappointing.
Nolan sat on the edge of the bed beside me, one hand resting near my hip while the other brushed over the fine hair at the top of her head.
Skipper and Lawson stood near the doorway like two men who had wandered into the wrong building and refused to admit it. Skipper had taken his hat off, which might have been the most respectful thing I had ever witnessed him do, while Lawson kept his hands shoved into the pockets of his work pants.
“She’s sleeping now,” Skipper said.
“For the moment,” I answered. “She has opinions about being put down.”
Lawson glanced at Skipper. “Wonder where she got that.”
Skipper pointed at Nolan. “Not from him. Callahan spent three years letting people tell him where to stand.”
Nolan looked up from the baby. “You came all the way to the hospital to insult me?”
“I came to meet the kid. Insulting you was free.”
I laughed, then stopped when the movement reminded every exhausted part of me that I had given birth only a few hours earlier. Nolan turned to me at once.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine. Stop watching me like I’m going to break.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“And I’ve been right almost half the time.”
Lawson shook his head. “That’s not comforting.”
Our daughter shifted in my arms and made a small, offended sound. Every man in the room went silent.
Skipper craned his neck from his safe position near the foot of the bed. “She’s got a strong set of lungs on her. She’s going to be giving orders on the docks before she can walk.”
“Then she’ll fit right in,” I said.
“She’ll need a title,” Nolan said. “Skipper already calls himself captain of everything.”
“I own the place. I can call myself whatever I want.”
Lawson tipped his head toward the door. “Come on, Skipper. We’ll wait out in the hall, Nolan. Give you guys a minute.”
Skipper looked as though he wanted to argue, then glanced at the baby and reconsidered. He set his hat back on his head and pointed at Nolan before following Lawson toward the door.
“Don’t keep her awake with one of your speeches.”
Nolan smiled. “I’ll do my best.”
The door eased shut behind them, leaving the room quieter than before. I rested my head against Nolan’s shoulder while our daughter remained tucked between us.
For once, I didn’t need to wonder what was waiting on the other side of a door.
No reporters. No handlers. No father with a contract in one hand and a schedule in the other.
Just Skipper and Lawson in the hallway, probably arguing over coffee from a vending machine.
Nolan traced one finger along the edge of the baby’s blanket. “I could sit here all night and look at her.”
“You probably will. Eventually you’re going to have to sleep.”
“I don’t think that’s happening.”
“You’re going to change your mind after the third diaper.”
“I’ve rebuilt an outboard.”
I lifted my head to look at him. “That may be the least useful comparison you’ve made since you tried to explain fishing with quarterback arm strength.”
“It worked in my head.”
“Most of your worst ideas did.”
He smiled, but it faded as he looked down at our daughter again. His thumb brushed her shoulder.
“I love you so much, Piper.” He looked back at me. “Thank you for letting me come home.”
The words sat between us for a moment.
Once, I might have accepted them exactly as he gave them. I might have treated forgiveness like a door I had opened because he finally knocked hard enough.
But that wasn’t what had happened.
“You earned your way home, Nolan.” I shifted closer until my temple rested against him again. “We’re finally safe.”
He closed his eyes for a moment.
When they opened, there was no performance in them, no promise waiting to be spun into something larger. He just bent toward me and kissed me, slow enough that I could smile against his mouth.
Then he lowered his head and pressed a kiss to our daughter’s hair.
She slept through it.
I looked at Nolan beside me, at our baby tucked against my chest, and at the closed hospital door with our family waiting beyond it. Nothing about this life resembled the one Reid had tried to build for us.
Thank God.
Nolan held us close, and nothing beyond that room mattered anymore.